A Different Approach
by BumbleBeeLoved
Summary: Harry takes a different approach to finding a crying Draco in the bathroom. HBP. Slight AU. Movie-centric. One-shot.


**A/N: Hey guys! For those of you reading it, I'll get back to Suits as soon as I get my laptop back from the people fixing it (it's been a crazy semester). This is a story set in HBP, during the Sectusempra scene. The only thing that I changed in the story line is that Voldemort has found out about the entire prophecy and Harry's been subjected to more visions of the Death Eater meetings than in the books. **

**I HAD to get this out there, so I have not been able to beta it unfortunately. I apologize for any errors I have made. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I just play with the toys, I don't own them.**

Harry walked into the bathroom, not knowing what to expect. He wouldn't have been surprised had Malfoy been pacing, worrying about getting caught, or practicing dark magic, brewing poisons, venting to Crabbe and Goyle, or a million other things. What Harry had not expected when he entered that bathroom was to find Draco Malfoy, bane of his school existence, son of famed and feared Lucius Malfoy, subscriber to the belief that purebloods prevailed over muggleborns and halfbloods, and Slytherin Ice Prince, was to find him bent over the sinks crying. It wasn't a pathetic whimpering or silent tears running down his face. No, Harry recognized this type of fear, of pain. This was the type of sobbing one did when the weight of the world, your world, was crushing down on you, killing you from the inside out.

Harry hated himself. He couldn't leave Malfoy like this, not when he'd felt this pain all last year and this summer. Harry knew the crushing weight Malfoy was under, and while Harry wasn't under threat of immediate death should he fail, he was expected to kill Voldemort and save Britain and very possibly die or watch as his world around him crumbled should he decide not to participate in the war. Harry looked on once again to his childhood enemy had a breakdown in front of his eyes. Malfoy was sobbing so hard, he needed the sinks to hold his thin and sickly body up. It was clear that the strain was having an affect on his health and appetite. He was pale, gaunt, almost reminding Harry of Sirius (a thought that hurt, comparing the two) after Azkaban. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was disheveled, and his clothes wrinkled. All things that no self respecting Malfoy would ever dream of letting the world see.

Harry didn't want to help him, didn't even want to extend a helping hand. He simply wanted to stun the other boy and drag him to Dumbledore's office, let them put him in Azkaban to rot and never think of him again. Malfoy _had_ brought his, and many others', time here at Hogwarts down, bullying them, trying to get under their skin and just generally being nasty. Malfoy had goaded Harry into fights and humiliated him many times, he had made Hermione cry, and had embarrassed Ron about his family and their financial situation. Harry was sure he was the reason behind about fifty percent of their detentions. At least. Malfoy was arrogant, pretentious, snobby, sarcastic, vengeful, used people and was willing to tear apart and tear down anyone he could to achieve the ends he wanted. And despite all this, Harry simply couldn't walk away without trying to help. How? He wasn't sure, he didn't exactly have the most tact when it came to people, as was evidenced with the situation with Slughorn. But he had to try. He knew what it was like to not have anyone.

There might be something to this "hero complex" thing Hermione kept going on about.

Harry stepped out from the shadows where he had been hiding. "Mafoy," he said uncertainly, not really knowing what he was going to say after.

Malfoy whipped around, wand out before Harry could blink. Neither moved for several tense moments, before Harry spoke again.

"I know what you did," he said cautiously, uncertainly, not really knowing whether this was the right approach or not. It wasn't as if he was best friends with the other boy.

In response, Malfoy jabbed his wand at Harry, and a ball of light burst from the tip, almost hitting Harry as he ducked and dived behind a wall. Apparently that was the wrong approach.

"I'm not here to fight, Malfoy!" Harry half yelled in annoyance.

"Then what for? To laugh at me?" Malfoy's voice echoed back.

Harry paused half a second before answering, in part to listen for Malfoy's footsteps and in part to question his sanity for what he was about to do. "I can help."

There was a bark of hollow laughter. "Help? You want to help me? And just what do you think you'll be helping me with?"

"I know you're in over your head." The silence was all the affirmative he needed to continue. "He's going to kill you, isn't he? If you're lucky."

"You know nothing!" Malfoy yelled.

"Have you been to a meeting yet, Malfoy?"

"What could you possibly know about the meetings?" Malfoy growled, his voice slightly closer.

"I've seen him kill. I've seen him torture he calls entertainment. Hell, I've _been_ the entertainment! Don't tell me what I do and don't know." Harry moved closer to the wall's edge. "I know the pressure you're under."

"Pressure? You sit on your throne, you're loving fans getting you anything you want. You have the favor of the teachers. You're the Golden Boy. What /pressure/?"

"I have to kill," was Harry's only response. He didn't know the intelligence in telling Malfoy this, but it tumbled out of his mouth before he could think on it.

There was a pregnant pause in which Harry could almost hear the wheels and cogs turning in the boy's head.

"I don't have time for riddles, Potter."

"I have to kill. I know you know about the prophecy, Malfoy. If your father told you about the diary in second year, then surely you've heard of that much. Am I wrong?"

"What of it?" he said shortly.

"Do you know what it says?"

"Seventh month, born to people who defied him twice-"

"'Neither can live while the other survives. And he will have a power the Dark Lord knows not.'" Harry stared at the wall in front of him, not seeing it. He was reliving that day when Dumbledore told him about the prophecy and when Voldemort finally heard the missing piece he had waited over sixteen years to hear. "I have to kill Voldemort. I'm the only one."

Harry glanced around the corner. Malfoy was in the same spot, wand at the ready. But he looked frozen, shocked. His eyes were wide and slow to turn on Harry. He inched out a bit more.

"You have more of a choice than I do."

He could see the panic rise in Malfoy. He had started shaking again.

"What choice do I have? I HAVE to finish! He's going to KILL me AND my mother! You'd have me join the side that places all their hopes on a boy?" His thoughts seem scattered. Harry knew he was still on the verge of a mental breakdown, and it would not be pretty. "Do you know what he'll do to us?" he half whispered.

It was Harry's turn to bark out a laugh. It seemed to have startled Malfoy.

"He's sent me vision of him torturing ... of him torturing Sirius." It was still hard to think about that night. "And even if he hadn't, I'd still have the nightmares. I've gone up against him four times since coming to Hogwarts. I don't need you to tell me what he's capable of. As for the Order, trust me. They're doing everything they can, but there's only so much. The rest is up to me. They can help. They can help protect you and your mum."

"How?" Malfoy demanded.

"I don't know specifics. It's too dangerous for me to know. You'd have to speak to Dumbledore."

Malfoy glanced between Harry and the door, still tense, still a nervous wreck, and still a second away from cursing Harry into oblivion. He quickly wet his lips before saying, "I want to speak to Severus."

Harry forced himself not to grimace at the name, and thought about the chances of Malfoy joining after speaking with Snape. Probably slimmer than they were now.

But it's more than they recently had been.

"On one condition." Malfoy gave a jerky nod. "I get your answer before dinner tonight."

Harry thought he was going to say no. He scowled quickly the simply looked annoyed.

"Why are you doing this, Potter? I don't owe you anything."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Malfoy, but we're in a war whether we like it or not. People are dying, have been dying. Many more will come. As much as I despise you, I wouldn't wish death on you."

"How very noble of you," he sneered.

"Whatever. Are you going to agree or not?" Harry had grown impatient.

"And what will you do to me if I don't?"

"I go to Dumbledore and tell him everything."

The two stared at each other for what seemed like ages, neither trusting the other. At long last, Malfoy answered.

"Fine."

Harry made to step forward, but Malfoy, whose wand had lowered steadily throughout the conversation, shot back up.

"Shake on it," Harry explained.

The other glanced at his hand as though it was something disgusting, like one of the many animal parts floating in jars in Snape's personal stock of potions ingredients, before taking a step, switching his wand to the other hand, and grasping Harry's. The shake was unpleasant, and only lasted a second or two as neither boy wanted to stay in physical contact with the other for any amount of time longer than necessary to seal the deal. They looked at each other once more before Malfoy strode out of the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, as if to make sure Harry wasn't after him.

It was nerve-wrecking waiting for Malfoy's reply. But as Hermione had said, once he finally was able to get the entire story out (Ron kept interrupting with "I wish I had been able to see the bloody git crying!" and "Blimey! Dealing with the ferret! You out of your mind?"), he was making the biggest decision of his life. The five or so hours he spent waiting for Malfoy to get back to him, was nothing compared to Malfoy's five hours of trying to make a potentially life or death decision that had far reaching consequences in the war. Not that Malfoy was really concerned on who he affected outside himself and his mother.

It was only at dinner time when Harry got his answer. By the time dinner had come around, Harry had given up on Malfoy and was headed to Dumbledore's office, half pissed that Malfoy had snubbed his offer in favor of taking his chances with Voldemort, and half even more pissed at himself for thinking that Malfoy might ever want to join the light, even if it was in his best interest. It was then that Snape descended upon Harry, more or less walking in the same direction as him.

"Potter," he greeted, although that was too nice a word seeing as the professor almost set Harry on fire simply looking at him. "My idiot godson has requested your presence in Professor Dumbledore's office, for some unknown reason," he said, grabbing the back of Harry's robes and forcing him to walk faster.

Harry's eyes went wide. He had decided. "He's ..."

"Yes, Potter. Only you would be able to convince a self-respecting Malfoy to join the Light," Snape muttered as they walked to the headmaster's office, one in complete shock, the other grudging appreciation.

The End.


End file.
